The Loveliest Pieces of Broken Things
by narqueen
Summary: A collection of drabbles and shorts for Inuvember, 2k15.
1. day 1: InuKik

**Title:** and we passed through the vale of tears

 **Warning:** mild gore; horror

 **Pairing:** InuKik

 **a/n:** Drabble for _**Inuvember, Day 1**_. Also, it is 'vale' and not 'veil'; title is part of a quote from the short story below.

* * *

 _"Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance. Inwardly: alone."_

― Harlan Ellison, _I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream_

* * *

"I'm not bleeding."

Kikyou's voice trembles as she stares at her wounded hand, and if she'd had any life left in her, she might have shed tears. The thought makes the ordeal hurt all the more, because the span of her life can be chronicled into a series of _what-might-have-beens_ and _priestesses-don't-cry_ ; the fact that she must abide by the same rules in death - that she couldn't cry even if she wanted to - is too ironic for her tastes.

Kikyou knows better than anyone that _there is no hell like needing to scream and having no mouth to do so,_ andthis tearless, human-less body was simply an extension of the existence she could never really seem to escape, regardless of time or how many times her soul was ripped apart and stuffed into different vessels.

InuYasha looks at her, mouth falling open a little, tongue running over teeth. Wordlessly, his eyes rove to her broken hand - fingers, shattered in pieces but not bleeding. _There should be blood in a person's wound,_ he thinks.

So he reaches down, plucking her breaking hand and heart, and drags the jagged edges of her clay fingers across his cheek, splicing the skin, allowing crimson to seep in the spaces where her veins should have been, giving her the life she could never have.


	2. day 2: MirSan

**Title:** Hell for the Holy

 **Warnings:** angst, character death

 **Pairing:** MirSan

 **a/n:** Drabble for _**Inuvember, Day 2**_. Cheated a bit and made it a little MirSanNar, but hey.

* * *

"You are dying," says Naraku, as if Miroku doesn't already know. "You're dying, and there is nothing you can do about it."

Naraku looms over him, a tower of miasma and poison and death, billowing with cold, black power. Not for the first time, Miroku wonders if the kazaana was simply a portal into Naraku himself – wonders if Naraku holds the pieces of him that have long ago been swept away into that gaping void in his palm.

Miroku wonders if he'll be able to find those pieces again once he is sucked inside; imagines crawling in an eternal storm of cursed winds, picking up whatever remained of his grandfather, his father, himself, stitching them into the holes in his skin like it might make him whole again.

Naraku leans down, inky tendrils of hair floating in the air, studying Miroku's pale, sweaty face with mild interest. The kazaana has grown too strong; the prayer beads no longer keep its power at bay. Now, Miroku is pinned to the ground, breathless and broken, feeling his blood and soul and spirit seeping into that ghastly, gaping thing.

"Your woman," Naraku murmurs. "She, too, is dying. I have taken her family, I have taken her brother. And now, I will take you. Surely, it will kill her."

Miroku wants to scream _no no no, don't you dare touch her, you monster, you bastard, you –_

But he cannot. Even opening his mouth to breathe hurts, because his body is already so riddled with depressions and cracks that he cannot risk opening another one.

 _I love her,_ Miroku wants to say. _I love her more than life itself. I love her more than my-self._

But he does not.

Instead, Miroku stares into Naraku's deep, dark, eternal gaze, aching to die, and uses his last breath to rasp, to _beg:_

"Don't let this kill her, too."

Naraku smirks, beginning to laugh harshly, and Miroku knows he understands, relief washing through his cold, white veins.

As the wind tunnel drags him under, Miroku watches Naraku transform into _the-man-he-once_ was, all purple robes and lecherous smile and _what-Sango-wanted,_ aware that he will never find himself again in the kazaana, and that this was all right, as long as Sango never went looking for him – as long as Sango was happy with Death instead of the dying _(dead)_ man he always had been.


	3. day 3: SessRin

**Title:** _forever_ in italics

 **Pairing:** SessRin

 **a/n:** Short piece of experimental fiction for _Inuvember, Day 3_. Hope you guys don't think it's too weird; I like writing _way_ too much. _House of Leaves_ byMark Z. Danielewski is my favorite piece of experiemental fiction, if anyone cares at all.

Guide to reading this will be under the cut.

* * *

and she breathes _**DEATH DEATH DEATH**_

And he brings _**HEAVEN HELL HEAVEN HELL**_ in a fang, in a body of white hair skin soul – white like _ **DEATH DEAD DEAD DEAD**_

she dies once

she dies twice

He brings her to life

He dies with her thrice

 _Forever,_ He remembers her asking for _forever_

He

Remembers

 _ **DEATH**_

Is

 _forever._

\- a.l.

* * *

 **a/n:** Little bit of explanation -

1) Any sentence relating to Sesshomaru will start with a capital letter.

2) Any sentence relating to Rin will start with a lowercase letter.

3) Anything in bold represents something Sesshomaru cannot change.

4) Anything in italics represents something that will be eternal.


	4. day 4: KogKag

**Title:** lost it to trying

 **Warnings:** mild sexual situations

 **Pairing:** KogKag

 **a/n:** Written for _**Inuvember, Day 4.**_ Dedicated to the wonderful angelhart79, who is elegant and beautiful on the inside and out. She's truly an angel. Apologies for this is being so insanely late.

* * *

 **i.**

"Tell me you love me."

The girl scowls, though it does nothing to detract from her young, summery beauty. "Why would I say that?"

Koga grins, feeling the hateful glare of the dog boy burning into his back. "Because you will, one day. Might as well get a head start," - _wink_ \- "I'm very fast, you know."

Kagome fumbles with her manners and InuYasha fumbles with the hilt of his sword, but Koga is already gone. He's only loved Kagome for a month, and does not know _just how long_ he will love her -

So, for now, there is no rush.

 **ii.**

Koga can feel himself slow when Kagome looks at InuYasha - the absolute adoration makes him pause (quite a feat in itself) to catch his breath; to examine the aching thing in his chest and wonder _why_ he'd run for love so fast, _too fast,_ the way he'd tackled anything in his life.

 _Love,_ he realizes, watching the girl of his dreams cry over the mutt (again), is not something that can be chased down like prey.

So he pauses in some emotional limbo, hating the agony which runs through his veins; threatens to clot and suffocate him from the inside out, as _(unrequited)_ love often does.

 **iii.**

 _Tell me you love me,_ he wants to scream after she's saved him - physically, this time, not emotionally or mentally or spiritually, as she has done in the past - and he lies panting and spent and wanting to give her everything, wanting her to understand everything. He has found death and come back, and now he needs to hear her _say it say it say it_ like the words on her lips might save them all.

Kagome's face is shrouded behind clouds of purple poison, but Koga can see the shine of unshed tears in her lovely, loveless gaze.

 _I can't,_ those eyes seem to wail back. _I can't say it!_

Koga closes his own, wondering how some of the the longest conversations could be so full of silence.

 **iv.**

Months have passed, yet Koga continues to run a race he knows he will never win - some desperate hope that, maybe, InuYasha would trip at the finish line and Kagome would say _why did I ever love that idiot?_ and he could finally rest.

But Koga is in love with a woman who gave her favor to another man before the race even began - sometimes Koga wants to kick himself, _because it never really was a race to begin with, was it?_

It is too late to bow out, too late to be disqualified -

So, with a heavy heart, Koga pushes forward, ignoring the fire in his lungs and the ache of his muscles, thinking _maybe maybe maybe one day_ , if only to finish what he started.

 **v.**

He is a man in pain; worn and weary from an eternity on a never-ending road, and he thinks he will die out on love's cruel, dry trail, when one day, there is rain.

 **vi.**

"Tell me you love me," Koga murmurs, serious for once in his life, and Kagome understands. The sky is black and blue with Naraku, and Koga knows he will not fight, and Kagome knows it might be all she can give him. InuYasha is off who-knows-where, and the others are too busy in their own agonies that they do not notice how silently Koga has arrived, this time.

"I love you," she whispers, stretching up on her tiny toes and pressing her mouth against his, wet tongue running over his chapped lips, breathing life into his parched soul. She hooks her legs around his waist and Koga groans in her mouth, aware that this is the consolation prize, but is too tired to care.

Koga lets his love crush him for what feels like forever - _I love you I love you I love you too_ \- and pretends Kagome is not a liar, and that he was the winner, after all.


	5. day 8: NarKik

**Title:** The Lessons After 1 - 4

 **Warnings:** language, sexual situations

 **Pairing:** NarKik

 **a/n:** Written for Inuvember, Day 8 (AU Week); Modern-day AU in which Naraku and Kikyou are young and almost-in-love. Dedicated to inukikfanfluff, my sister in sinful HC's.

* * *

"Fuck you," is her favorite thing to say to him - mostly because she hates him, _cannot stand him,_ so her tongue tends to betray the regal, cold mouth  & body which it occupies. If Kikyou is the type of girl who has a future, then Naraku is the type of man who ruins girls with futures; he is all _smooth tongue_ and _cigarette-stained soul,_ and she is all _long-dead purity_ and _halfway-through-her-B.A.-in-broken-hearts,_ and they constantly learn from one another:

1) Like how he taught her the art of fucking in public without getting caught.

2) Like how she taught him the sins of banned literature, and o! the beauties that came with it.

3) Like how he taught her the foolproof method of how to forget one's life in ten sips.

4) Like how she taught him the dirty secrets of the human heart, and all the things that went beyond sex; love, in all it's filthy, greedy glory, which ruins him forevermore.

.

.

.

He comes home one day to see her practicing lesson #3 with a bottle of whisky, though judging by the flush in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes, it seems as though she has gone overboard in her studies.

"Are you serious?" he deadpans, glaring. The girl is only nineteen - barely an adult - who'd only sipped fancy wines and champagne on special occasions with her rich-bitch family before meeting him and his cheap liquor. Even after being sort-of-together for almost a year ( _God,_ he thinks tiredly, _has it been that long?_ ) her tolerance is still fairly low.

Naraku knows how much alcohol equates to 'I'm fucking pissed' - and Kikyou seems to be _way_ past that point.

"Fuck you," she snaps, spitting slightly. "Fuck you, Naraku. I'm leaving."

This is not the first time she's made this threat, but it's certainly the first time she's been _drunk_ while making it.

"No, you're not." Naraku drops his keys in the ashtray which serves as a key dish, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the ratty armchair that faced the T.V. and didn't match any of the decor in the house (He hates the thing with a burning passion, but it's the place he and Kikyou first fucked, and Naraku is more sentimental than he would like to admit.).

From her place on the sofa, Kikyou stands, hissing when her thigh hits an edge of the living room coffee table. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"I can when you act like this," Halfheartedly, Naraku tries to tug her away from any other pieces of hazardous furniture, but Kikyou slaps his hand aside, which annoys him more than anything he's seen thus far. "What the fuck, Kikyou?! What's going on?!"

 _"I love InuYasha!"_

The air stills; Naraku feels like there is no more oxygen in the room, in his lungs, in the whole wide _fucking_ world -

"InuYasha?" His voice sounds pathetic to his own ears; he can only imagine what it sounds like to her. Even _mentioning_ that idiot ex-boyfriend of hers made his blood boil, and now…?

Kikyou's expression shifts into something like guilt, and Naraku thinks, _You fucking bitch!_

"Are you _fucking_ him?!" he yells, black waves falling into his vision.

Immediately, fury contorts her features. "Fuck you!" she shrieks, stepping forward to make her point. The motion turns over the remaining liquor in the bottle, _slosh-slosh-slosh,_ and this time, Naraku takes advantage of her disorientation to pry the bottle from her limp grasp. Kikyou looks like she's going to explode, and Naraku simply stares down at her, _daring_ her to hit him.

"Asshole," Kikyou snarls, straightening her skirt. "Fuck you."

"Are you fucking that dog?" Naraku retorts, fuming, wanting to kill her and kill _him_ and kiss her and kill himself all at once.

"No, dumbass! I - "

The sound of glass shattering against hardwood splits the air; in less than an instant, Kikyou's legs are wrapped around his waist, and his spidery fingers are tangled in her raven hair. She tastes drunk, drunk on whiskey and sadness and lust, and at the moment, Naraku does not care, because he _hasn't lost her_ , not yet, _damnable woman, what has she done to me -_

"You bitch," he hisses as he licks the space beneath her jaw. "You fucking cunt."

"Fuck you," she replies, groaning as his fingers slide beneath her shirt. "I'm leaving you. I don't love you. I still love him."

Briefly, Naraku pauses - he knows this girl is far too good for him, and if he truly loved her, he ought to let her go - back to college, back to InuYasha - who, like her, was young and bright and full of promise _(fuck him)_. If Kikyou has a future that is better than this, it is certainly away from him and his shitty cigarettes and shitty apartment and shitty bartending job.

But Naraku is selfish, and he still has a lot to learn about love, so he moves his hands downward to touch her, and Kikyou sighs against his lonely, sticky lips.

"You love me," Naraku murmurs darkly, desperately, moving them to the bed they almost-shared. "You love me, too."

And Kikyou doesn't object, because she, too, still has much to learn.


	6. day 10: NarKik

**Title:** Starving the Sin

 **Warnings:** mild horror, mild language, angst

 **Pairing(s):** NarKik, InuKag, mild InuKik

 **a/n:** Written for **_Inuvember, Day 10_ ** (AU Week). Post-apocalypse, vague zombie AU, in which Kikyou is the zombie and Naraku is the man who'd do anything to save her; I probably made him too nice, ha. Title inspired by Bring Me the Horizon lyrics.

For sankontesu, who's brilliant idea inspired this AU. Never thought I'd say it, but I have way too many AU ideas now, and I blame you entirely.

* * *

 _And on my deathbed, all I'll see is you_  
 _The life may leave my lungs_  
 _But my heart will stay with you_

\- Deathbeds, Bring Me the Horizon

...

"Kikyou, Kikyou!"

Naraku knows she's beyond reasoning, but he calls her name anyway, out of habit more than anything else. At the moment, Kikyou is too far gone to understand much of anything - the red is returning to her gaze, and her hungry hisses grow more vicious by the moment; the fever is coming back, like it always does, and she is starting to squirm in her shackles, snapping yellowing teeth in his direction.

She needs to be fed.

Naraku sighs, running a hand through his long, tangled black waves (after the fever spread, and the world became _no more,_ he hadn't seen the point in cutting it), wondering if there is a God, and wondering _why the hell did He let this happen, huh?_

Kikyou moans incoherently, whimpering, and falls to her side. The cage he keeps her in when the fever spikes is made of steel and has no blankets; there are no personal items, for the fever burns away all memories of the life one led before.

Once, Naraku had left a polaroid from their honeymoon for her - "Look," he'd whispered, holding it up, stroking Kikyou's cheek as she began to succumb to the symptoms of her sickness, "That's you and me, last year, in Spain, right after the wedding. Remember what you said to me, when I asked why you wanted to go there? You said, 'Because they let you drink at eighteen in Spain, how else are we going to do our toasts if it's illegal for me here? You're twenty-three, you can drink anywhere, so screw you.'" - in hopes she'd at least remember _him._

Only a few hours later, Naraku had returned to find the picture torn in half; since then, she has kept nothing of worth during her periods of illness.

Aware that he must find her food quickly, Naraku rises, wincing when Kikyou whines and grunts in protest, scrambling to her knees and clawing for him through the bars.

"I love you," he murmurs, staring straight into her scarlet, soulful, _starving_ gaze. "I always will."

With that, Naraku turns, leaving his wife to lose herself to the fever, if only for a little while.

* * *

.

.

.

Seven days - that's how long a feeding usually brought her back for. Seven precious, lovely days, when Kikyou would blink away the blood in her eyes and cry over what she'd become, what _they'd_ become, together. Naraku holds her all the while, _sh-sh-sh-ing_ away her tears, refusing to let her go until the fever returns.

Outside, the streets are empty, save for piles of garbage and rusting cars, tossed sporadically throughout the neighborhood. Naraku remembers when they'd moved in; two foolish, young, _let's do something stupid, okay?_ people in love, who'd both forgotten the toils of work and empty bank accounts and _the-reasons-you-have-to-be-smart-about-love._ Right before the fever struck the globe, Naraku had been sleeping on the couch, and Kikyou liked to mumble threats of divorce under her breath nearly every other night. The band of silver around his finger seemed to grow heavier with each passing day, and he'd often caught himself considering _a life without that woman_. Kikyou was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and _he_ was the man who'd stolen her away from her pious, pitiless parents when she was barely legal, barely an adult - surely, divorce would do them both good?

Hands in his pockets, Naraku walks down the street with little fear, enjoying the brilliant purple-orange of dusk on the sky, ignoring the faraway scream of some unlucky soul.

.

.

.

* * *

There are always people in the markets.

Even though the stores have all been long-abandoned, the healthy few who linger in the town creep out occasionally to salvage canned goods and bottled stuff; travelers pick through broken glass for dry pasta or anything edible to feed what remained of their families. Naraku himself doesn't eat much, but he's lucky enough to have some provisions in his home for the times when he remembers that he, too, needs to eat, even though Kikyou will not be joining him.

Tonight, he sees an unfamiliar pair behind the broken window of a local gas-station convenience store - a young man and woman, hand in hand, even as they rummaged the empty shelves. The boy has a long mane of silver hair, tied in a ponytail beneath a tattered baseball cap; the girl is small and lithe, yellow dress rumpled and smeared with dirt.

They are definitely not locals; everyone within a five-mile radius knew that gas station had already been emptied of anything useful months ago. No; these two are only passing through. No one would notice if…

"You won't find anything there!" Naraku calls to the couple, cupping a hand over his mouth so there is no chance of them misinterpreting his words.

The young man starts, immediately shoving the girl behind him, lips pulling into a snarl. Naraku raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, but strides forward in long, confident steps.

"Easy, there," he chuckles. "I'm not going to kill you."

The boy growls, clearly unconvinced. The young woman peeks around the boy's shoulder, eyes going wide at the sight of Naraku.

"What do you want?" the silver-haired man finally spits; amused, Naraku mentally gives the boy credit for his distrust. Upon realizing he was not sick with fever, too many people were quick to drop their guard; Naraku knows that, in a twist of events, this will not be the case today.

"I want to help," Naraku insists soothingly, making eye contact with the boy's female companion. Women, he's noted, were more receptive to attempts at friendship than men. "I came to see if there was some balm for my wife. She was bit by a spider, and she's having a bad reaction."

At the word _wife,_ both traveler's eyes flick to Naraku's left hand; the girl instantly recognizes a wedding ring, and she turns to the boy.

"InuYasha," she says, tone pleading. "It's okay."

The boy - InuYasha - glares balefully at Naraku, but seems to relax a bit when the girl places a hand on his shoulder.

Taking it as his cue to continue, Naraku takes a much more deliberate step forward. "I'm Naraku," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. "And you two are…?"

Expression eager, the girl maneuvers around her companion to take his hand. "I'm Kagome," she replies. "And this is my boyfriend, InuYasha."

InuYasha makes a noise that might have been a _hello._ Instantly, Kagome's features sour, seemingly annoyed by her partner's behavior.

Something shifts painfully in Naraku's chest - vaguely, he considers letting the two go. InuYasha couldn't be more than twenty, and Kagome looks around Kikyou's age. Bile stings the back of his throat; Naraku lets go of Kagome's hand to cover a stream of painful coughs.

 _Kikyou,_ he reminds himself, picturing her happy and healthy and _here,_ even if it was for a short time. _This is for Kikyou._

"New to the area?"

"Just passing through," InuYasha mutters, glancing at his girlfriend apprehensively; Naraku wonders if they'd bickered frequently enough to know when the other was upset. "Not planning on staying long."

Naraku flashes his friendliest, fakest smile, folding his arms across his chest and looking between the two teens. "Well, if you'd like, you can stay in my home for the night. My wife - Kikyou - and I, we don't have kids, so there's plenty of space. I think she'd enjoy the company."

Kagome brightens at the proposition of _company,_ but InuYasha is still scowling. "Thanks, but, we really gotta get goin' - "

"We'll give you dinner," Naraku interrupts, quickly combing his memory. "I think we have some ramen left."

The corner of InuYasha's mouth twitches; inwardly, Naraku smirks, knowing he's won.

* * *

.

.

.

As they approach the house, Naraku learns that Kagome likes to talk, and that InuYasha likes the opposite.

"Is there anyone with the fever around here?"

"No," Naraku lies, doing his damnedest keep annoyance off his features. "But I'm immune, anyway."

"Oh, wow! You're one of the lucky ones, huh? InuYasha - "

"So," InuYasha cuts the girl off, pulling the sleeves of his oversize scarlet sweater over his hands, "Your wife. She'll be okay with us comin' over?"

"She'll be fine," Naraku answers truthfully, jogging up the front steps with ease. "Like I said, Kikyou will enjoy the company. She'd wanted to start a family, before..."

Abruptly, Naraku stops speaking, feeling as though he's shared too much. Hands on the bronze door handle, Naraku mulls over how white his hands are, and how different they ought to be.

His silence apparently garners the sympathy of the girl, for he feels a warm hand on his back, soft and comforting.

"I can tell you really love her," Kagome says quietly, pretty face colored with sadness.

Pausing, Naraku sort of laughs darkly, dryly, before finally remembering how to open his own front door. "You have no idea."

.

.

.

* * *

"The ramen is in the basement," Naraku announces loudly, just in case Kikyou's cries filtered through the wood floors. "Care to come down with me? Kikyou's upstairs. I think she's asleep."

Ever helpful, Kagome nods, but InuYasha's expression clouds with doubt after Naraku yanks open a door behind the squeaky-clean kitchen table, revealing a set of stairs that descend into darkness.

"I don't think - "

"Oh, stop it!" Kagome huffs, tossing her raven locks to the side. "The man's trying to feed you, really!"

And with that, she marches down the steps, chin in the air; Naraku blinks, once again contemplating sparing her life - the girl was something else.

InuYasha sighs tiredly, shaking his silver head. "That Kagome, she's always - "

A high-pitched shriek echoes from the shadows, and terror consumes InuYasha's face for less than a second before he bolts into the basement, bellowing his lover's name. Naraku follows - albeit much slower - locking the cellar door behind him.

Kikyou is awake. Her eyes have become fully crimson, and her movements are much more animalistic - at the sight of the newcomers, she's gone into a frenzy, frantically clawing the bars of her prison, inky strands of hair covering half her face.

Kagome is on the ground a few feet away, gaze glued to the feverish woman behind bars; InuYasha is holding her protectively, but his attention focuses on Naraku when he enters the room.

"What the hell, man?!" InuYasha barks. "What the hell are you - "

"Let me make this clear," Naraku's voice is cold, detached, assuming control of the situation - InuYasha's mouth snaps shut almost instantly. "I'm sorry to do this, but it's what I have to do."

"Do what?!" Kagome sobs, crystalline tears running down her rosy cheeks.

A lightbulb flickers overhead, crackling with white electricity. _I need to fix that,_ Naraku thinks offhandedly, sighing.

"You see," he explains, walking closer, closing in, "my wife caught the fever a few months ago. She bit me a few times, but I never got sick." He shrugs. "I tried killing her once or twice, but in the end, I just...couldn't."

To the side, Kikyou bangs her palm against steel; Naraku wants to throw both the teens in the cage right now, but he schools his features, practicing patience.

"One day, she escaped, and bit a woman who happened to be walking by the house. Now, it's usually the bite that satiates the fever, but Kikyou was so hungry, she began to eat the woman. And then...she came back to life."

InuYasha's knuckles are pale beneath the darkness of the cellar. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, if Kikyou consumes human flesh, she returns to normal." Pause. "At least, for a while."

"You're a monster!" Kagome shakes her head wildly, obviously in denial. "You're despicable!"

In spite of himself, Naraku cannot help the smirk that dances on his cold, cruel lips.

"Perhaps," he muses. "Regardless, one of you will have to go first. Which will it be?"

"Me!" InuYasha blurts, jumping to his feet. "But I swear, if you hurt Kagome - "

"Lovely," Naraku drawls, yanking the door of Kikyou's cage open, kicking InuYasha inside, then promptly locking it behind him. Somewhere in the background, Kagome is wailing, and Naraku grabs her wrist roughly, dragging her upstairs, hoping Kikyou finishes her meal soon.

* * *

.

.

.

It's been hours, and Kagome refuses to shut up.

"You're an evil man!" she seethes, wriggling against the Duct-tape binds he's put her in. "You're despicable!"

"You've said that already," Naraku retorts lightly, folding laundry as he speaks.

"InuYasha will come for me!"

"InuYasha is dead."

 _Or at least,_ Naraku thinks, _he should be. Better go check._

"Wait here," he orders Kagome sternly, like she had any other choice. She throws him a look of utmost loathing from her bound position in a kitchen chair; Naraku sets his garments aside and goes back to the basement door, prying it open gently.

"Kikyou?"

Silence. Naraku frowns - usually, the fever broke fairly fast after she'd finished eating, so he is used to hearing her crying, or perhaps the weak call of his name.

"Kikyou?" he repeats, flicking on the switch, panic clogging his throat -

There, in the cage he'd built to protect her, Kikyou is still, leaning into InuYasha's chest as he stroked her hair, ruby eyes glazed and hazy and perfectly, _utterly_ calm.

Naraku can _feel_ his blood go cold, freezing everything it touches; when Kikyou's pupils flick up to meet his own, something shatters between his ribs, and he staggers slightly backward.

"What - How - "

"Bastard," InuYasha hisses through clenched teeth, lifting his chin from the top of Kikyou's head. "I'm immune to the fever too."

Naraku sucks in a sharp breath, disregarding the pulsing white bursts which fray his vision. That explained why he wasn't afraid to touch her, but -

"She talked to me, ya know," InuYasha continues angrily. "I don't know if you've tried that, recently, but once she figured out I was immune, she talked to me. Do ya know what she said?"

Heartache, heartbreak, horrible, hurting, _hell,_ all tangled and knotted within the pit of his stomach; Naraku thinks he may vomit, so he only looks at Kikyou, praying, _begging_ anything in the universe that this wasn't happening.

"She said she wanted to die," InuYasha's tone is dripping with disgust. "Kikyou said she wanted to die, and you wouldn't let her."

 _No, no, no, no,_ this was so wrong, this was all wrong, _that dog_ must be wrong, _no no no_ he loved Kikyou, loved her more than anything -

"Kikyou," Naraku doesn't know how he's gotten so close to the cage, but somehow he's there, pressed against the bars, desperate for an answer, "Is he...is he…?"

Kikyou - his beautiful, young, sick, _dead_ Kikyou - tilts her face up, meeting her husband's gaze.

" _Yes,"_ she rasps with a voice like the plague she carries, hoarse and broken and eternal.

And then the world breaks - there's a blinding agony in his skull, and Naraku falls against the concrete floor of the basement with a sickening crack; dimly, he sees that Kagome managed to escape her bindings, and she breaks open the lock on the cage door, dragging InuYasha out, and they _run run run_ up the staircase; Naraku feels something warm pool beside his ear, sticking to his hair, and tries to guess what the girl struck him with.

"N-Nar...Naraku?"

There's a shuffling of chains, and when he looks up, Kikyou's fevered, somber eyes pierce his soul. Swallowing, he lifts a hand, closing it around her throat.

 _All I ever wanted was your heart,_ he wants to say.

But he does not.

Instead, he simply strangles her to (a second) death; strangles the fever out of her, strangles the false-life out of her, because he loves her more than anything, and can only hope that he will be granted the chance to be with her in the next world - can only hope that next time, he will love her better than this.


	7. day 11: KageSan

**Title:** the beautiful short-lasting things

 **Warnings:** angst, character death

 **Pairing:** Sango/Prince Kagewaki, mild NarSan

 **a/n:** Written for _**Inuvember, Day 11** _ (AU Week). _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ AU starring Sango as Wanda and Prince Kagewaki as the Vision. I included shades of NarSan, where Naraku is Ultron. What can I say? It's my reverse NarSan pairing.

I watched the movie for the first time a couple days ago and knew I had to make an AU with a ship I'd originally thought was going to be another painful ship, but turned out to be canon. So I'm going to exploit it in any way possible – it's weird not to be in emotional turmoil.

This is ridiculously late, and I apologize profusely.

 _ **Spoilers for the movie are included in the story.**_

* * *

 **The Vision:** Humans are odd. They think order and chaos are somehow opposites and try to control what won't be. But there is grace in their failings. I think you missed that.

 **Ultron: ** They're doomed!

 **The Vision:** Yes... but a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. It is a privilege to be among them.

\- Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

* * *

The view is nice, here.

Black Widow – _Kagome,_ she corrects herself – had thought something along those lines in the midst of battle. Sango hears too much now, after becoming Enhanced. Thoughts, she's learned, are just as loud as words, if not louder. There are a thousand voices in her head and its just so crowded and painful and _loud loud loud_ _;_ but right now, above the clouds, atop a crumbling city, the world is silent, save for the sound of gravity pressing against her chest, strangling the life from her lungs.

She can feel, see, _hear_ herself dying, and that is all right. Her brother is dead like her parents are dead; Kohaku, her lifeline, oh-so-brave and oh-so-foolish, sacrificing himself for the woman with the bow (Hawkeye? Kikyou?) and a child who was not his own. The bullets that burst through Kohaku's flesh at the hands of that hideous, _miserable_ monster Naraku might as well have pierced her, too.

Sango is unafraid of dying because she already is dead.

.

.

.

"Sango," Naraku had whispered, staring at her from his crumbling form. "If you stay here, you'll die."

When they'd met, Sango had been fascinated with him – Naraku was clever and charming to the T, constantly rebuilding himself, and expressed almost-human approval through his crimson gaze. More than once, she'd looked over his strange body, unsure what to make of this alluring, unholy creature whose cold silver tongue promised revenge time and time again, smirking all the while.

Sango used to like the idea of revenge – her hatred for that man, that _InuYasha,_ had burned long and hard for years on end. Naraku had promised her justice, promised her retribution for his role in her family's death (bomb, smoke, _Stark_ until Kohaku sank his teeth into his tongue and Sango nearly went mad from staring at the grenade from their hiding place), and she accepted with the heartfelt rage she'd carried well into adulthood.

But now –

"I just did," Sango had hissed back, tears blurring her vision so that Naraku's cool, constructed, _concerned_ features melted and morphed to reflect the true nature of his sort-of soul. "Do you know how it felt?"

And she poured all that hatred she had for them – for InuYasha and his suit of iron, for Kikyou and her arrows, for every single one of the Avengers – into ripping out Naraku's ugly, sinful heart straight from his chest. Holding it in her palm, noting the many inhuman pieces that made it and the many inhuman pieces that made him, Sango thinks that, too, will fall apart.

"It felt like _that._ "

.

.

.

Sango is glad she's dying in such a beautiful place; everything hurts, and she's so weak, so _tired_ of it all – so tired of red mist and poisoned dreams and men who break and break her in turn.

What had Kagome said?

' _There are worse ways to go. Where else am I gonna get a view like this?'_

Inwardly, Sango smiles, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Suddenly, before she knows what's happening, someone is holding her; Sango's eyes widen, but she is half-dead already, and couldn't move against the strength of gravity. Cold, horrible fear grips her heart for the briefest of seconds, because this man – this being – who caught her looks just like Naraku, all sharp features and long, black hair that blends with her own in the frigid, harsh winds.

But the fear dissipates rapidly, for she realizes his gaze is not a bloody, brutal red, but a dark, soothing shade between onyx and amber – they seem to radiate calm and peace and everything she'd ever wanted, ever needed; his porcelain face is inches from her own, and she gasps, lips parting as if she planned to kiss him.

Unconsciously, her powers flicker, tentatively filtering in the man's thoughts, seeking out any malevolence.

There are none – only a comforting, gentle sense of _preservation,_ which envelops Sango's weary, wary mind like dressings on a wound, stitching her back up again, holding her body together instead of letting her fall and shatter.

 _Vision,_ she thinks hazily. _Vision's…here…_

As if he, too, could hear her thoughts, the man looks to the sky, clings to Sango _just_ _a bit tighter_ , and begins to fly, up, _up,_ out of the wreckage, out of death, and into the clouds.


	8. day 12: SessKag

**Title:** Lullaby, Lulling

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Pairing:** SessKag

 **a/n:** Written for _**Inuvember, Day 12**_ (AU Week). Avengers: Age of Ultron AU again, this time with Sesshomaru as the Hulk and Kagome as Black Widow.

For my cacti cult leader, **ryo-creampuff-bakura** , whom I adore. Thank you for sinning with me - you, me, and weird-ass AU's will send us to Hell and I'm not even sorry.

* * *

 _"All my friends are fighters, and here comes a guy avoiding a fight 'cause he knows he'll win."_

\- Natasha Romanoff, _Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)_

* * *

He is furious - white-hot, blindingly furious, and Kagome knows it.

The rest were fighting, but that was irrelevant. Here, there, anywhere, it didn't matter - Kagome was the only one who could calm the rage within him that was usually so well-tempered.

So she hoists herself over a mound of snow - _Jesus, this shit is everywhere_ \- and slides down, barely noticing the cold burn the friction creates beneath her skin-tight suit. In spite of her sweet, round face and sweet, smiling mouth, Kagome had _earned_ her position as a fighter, and after practice with broken bones and hearts, _so many other obstacles_ and _so little time,_ Kagome thinks she holds her own fairly well among the group of boys she fights and/or babysits.

Sesshomaru is roaring.

Kagome refuses to call him the Hulk - she prefers 'The Other Guy' - because she decided long ago that calling someone a monster for differences in DNA was no different than any other kind of prejudice; granted, the dog-demon form was wild and unstable, constantly brimming with rage. Sesshomaru's cool exterior was, if anything, simply a way to keep the beast within himself caged.

"Hey, big guy."

Sesshomaru whirls around, snarling through bloodstained teeth. Kagome isn't fazed in the slightest.

"I think it's time for the lullaby."

The great white terror - who'd been tearing through human flesh only minutes ago - blinks rapidly at her, like he understands.

Tentatively, Kagome reaches for him, a single hand outstretched, feeling the gentle, cool kisses of falling snowflakes between her fingers. Sesshomaru mimics the gesture with an enormous paw, placing it atop hers. Kagome can feel the calluses and scars that line the fleshy pads of his feet, and her heart aches inexplicably.

Gently, she brushes her finger along the inner part of his leg, noting that the fur is already beginning to recede.

Sesshomaru jerks away, roaring as he collapses within himself, and Kagome watches, not wanting to leave him, wishing she could do more.

It is over quickly - Sesshomaru rises, stony-faced, silver hair pooling around him and blending with the ice; Kagome sucks in a breath too fast, and her lungs burn with cold.

She smiles at him, and he smiles back - it is only the barest twitch of his lips, but she sees it, knows what it means, knows the significance of _whatever this was_ between the two of them.

Kagome is the only one who can calm him; _surely,_ she thinks, leading Sesshomaru out of the snowfall, _there is a reason behind all lullabies._


	9. day 14: SessKagu

**Title:** please gather the clouds

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Pairing:** SessKagu

 **a/n:** Written for _**Inuvember, Day 14**_ (AU Week). A sort-of AU set in a modern-day city, in which Kagura is reincarnated as a dancer and Sesshomaru goes to watch her. Heavily inspired by The Weeknd's 'Belong to the World' song and music video; I've loved his music for too long, ha.

Dedicated entirely to **princess-j3ss** (princess-kagura on tumblr) and **thequeenwillruletheboard** , both of whom are absolutely lovely, and have strengthened my love for Kagura. So glad to have met you two.

* * *

 _The wind in the sky,_  
 _Please gather the clouds,_  
 _And close the way of the wind._  
 _I need to make the beautiful dancer_  
 _Like a muse, so I can keep looking at her._

\- **Belong to the World** , The Weeknd [Intro]

* * *

A beautiful dancer in this life, she moves with the grace of a thousand tragedies and the wind from whence she was born, earning compliments like quiet rain amongst the audience – _hush-hush_ murmurs of approval that seep into the dark spaces between people, sprinkling the air like droplets of moisture; faint but constant, and all favorable.

Here, in this alleyway auditorium, there are no seats – this is a secret dance, a secret show, in spite of the men who surround the stage, leering at her with no small amount of possessiveness. From the middle of the crowd, Sesshomaru keeps his features in check, though he'd sincerely enjoy snapping the fingers off of a few of them, those _filthy_ things. If Kagura is the wind and Sesshomaru is the storm, then these men are the dirt beneath them both.

No, the audience must stand for this performance – they must watch her until their eyes glaze over and their feet ache from staying still for so long. Sesshomaru knows they must _earn_ the right to watch her, even if the rule is not spoken aloud.

She continues to move; whether or not she is aware of the nature of her spectators, Sesshomaru does not know. She is far too alluring to be ignored, far too talented to be ignorant of her own charm. _Women like Kagura_ are women who hate themselves for things the world cannot see, just like how _men like Sesshomaru_ hate themselves for the very same reason; beautiful things are somber because they must go beyond perfection, and there is nothing beyond perfection.

Studying her breathless, breathtaking routine, Sesshomaru tries to guess exactly _when_ Kagura found the place after perfection, saw it for the wasteland it was, and realized that there was nowhere to go but everywhere, after all. Perhaps she'd realized it all those years ago – hadn't she yearned for something like _freedom?_

Her father is a man who isn't quite Naraku, but isn't quite anyone else, either - made of raven hair and sharp bones beneath pale, pitiless flesh. He looks young, far too young to be the father of an eighteen, nineteen-year old girl, and Sesshomaru wonders if that is why he hates her; in this time, teenage parents were no longer considered the norm. Vaguely, he expects Naraku will always have a hand in her creation, regardless of era or circumstance or species.

Kagura dips, bends, and raises her arms in a swan-like gesture – _always wanting to fly away_ – and the whispers escalate encouragingly. The music she dances to is some somber, slow-burning song, full of base that echoes against the graffiti-stained alleyway bricks. The streetlamps cast flickering, fluorescent light over the stage, turning the shadows steely blue, so that her milky skin glows and the rouge on her lips goes burgundy.

She is secret of the city; the secret of the dance department at the university she attends; she an urban legend, _The Entertainer of God,_ and she excels at exceeding the expectations of everyone in the audience, Sesshomaru included.

Too soon, Kagura ends her performance in a languid, sorrowful pose, but no one cheers. However, this does not seem to bother her; she straightens, leaps off the old, broken stage, and makes her way through the crowd; they part for her like the Red Sea, wide-eyed and worshipful.

Sesshomaru lets her get a head start, then follows.

Out in the open, the streets are relatively empty – it's one in the morning, and many have work the next morning. Sesshomaru catches her walking down the sidewalk to her car as she's shrugging a kimono-style robe over her white leotard, heels clacking against the concrete. Before he can say something, Kagura whirls around, annoyance painted across her features.

"Sorry, _sir,_ but the show's over."

Inwardly, Sesshomaru resists the urge to smirk; outwardly, he reaches within his pocket, and pulls out a thin, unmarked envelope, and offers it to her.

"For you," he states simply, resisting the temptation to touch her.

Kagura blinks, glancing at the envelope curiously, before the irritation resurfaces. "I don't dance for money, I don't have a street performer's license. I dance because – "

"Because you want to be free."

Now Kagura seems startled; her eyes widen, and her fingers wind tightly around the base of her car keys, pointed edge up, turning it into a weapon, a _blade_ – no doubt to be utilized if Sesshomaru were to do anything perverse.

"How…what do you…"

 _Because I've been watching you,_ Sesshomaru wants to say. _Because I know your father controls your money and tuition, and holds it above your head so that you can't leave; because I know how hard it is to find work right now, even if you tried to go; because I know how you dream, because you've dreamt of the same things since the first time we met; because time and time again, I find you, no matter where I go; because I failed so miserably to save you the first time, so this is me trying to atone for that, because you've earned it –_

But Sesshomaru says none of this.

Instead, he nudges the envelope into her palm, and replies, "Everyone deserves to be free."

Reluctantly, Kagura accepts the envelope, opening it with trembling fingers. When she peers inside, her breath hitches.

"This check…it's too – it's too much – "

"No, it's not." He disagrees shortly, cutting her off. And it's the truth – Sesshomaru spends his life shifting careers and earning money he never spends, for what is luxury worth to the immortal? Sesshomaru has no hobbies, has no friends. InuYasha died a few decades after his priestess wife had passed, Jaken perished from illness some years back, and Rin dies again, again, _again,_ every day, inside his wounded heart – out of all the things that may kill him, Sesshomaru speculates that Rin is the likeliest candidate.

The only thing he wants for, _wishes for,_ now, is –

"Kagura," he murmurs, and the girl's head snaps up, expression flooding with something like remembrance.

Gently, Sesshomaru brings his fingers to her cheek, ghosting them over her flushed, sweaty skin.

"If you love me," he whispers above her lips, breath clouding the space between them, _wanting wishing wanting,_ "don't look for me."

With the instructions he will always give her, Sesshomaru turns around and walks into the night, tugging his mane of silver from it's ponytail to let it spill over his shoulders. This is the fourth time she's been reincarnated, and Sesshomaru knows it will not be the last.

Kagura never goes looking for him.

Sesshomaru is certain that, in the deepest, darkest, _oldest_ part of the heart she fought so desperately to keep, Kagura knows _he_ will be the one to look for her.


	10. day 16: Kagome & Kikyou

**Title:** Dog Bait

 **Warnings:** implied sexual situations, adult material

 **Prompt:** Kagome  & Kikyou

 **Pairings:** NarKik, InuKag

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 16.** Very late, but I'm catching up, so I'll post a couple of pieces at once. Be prepared for a fic-dump.

This one is heavily inspired by Hole's "Doll Parts". It's also pretty similar to my NarSan fic, "Things You Let Go In Order to Live". I've got a thing for Naraku abducting the objects of his affection, hm?

* * *

 _I love him so much, it just turns to hate..._

 _He only loves those things because he loves to see them break._

\- **Doll Parts** , Hole

* * *

She is re-made of bones and ash; flesh hard and porcelain, cool and smooth to the touch, like a china doll. That's what she feels like, anyway - men and women and gods alike seem to enjoy toying with her soul, tossing her fate across a variation of bodies and time, as if she really were a mere plaything.

In this life, a spider in the skin of a man obsesses over her second form, just as he was obsessed with her first one; he cares not that she is constructed of clay and soil, nor does he mind her broken-doll figure, strung together by the spirits of women who'd died equally miserable as she.

When he finds her wandering the earth - unguarded and beautiful as ever - he steals her away, bringing her to his dank, dark castle, adding her to his collection of breathing things, and she hates him all the more for it.

"I love another," she insists bitterly, for perhaps the thousandth time, "I love a man of good heart and virtue, and he loves me, too."

His fingers brush inquisitively between her thighs, handling her with care, smirking when she inhales sharply and clings to his tall, solid frame.

"The one you speak of is a dog," he murmurs, ghosting his lips over her own. "Not a man at all."

She glares at him coldly, especially when he loosens the front of his robes. "He'll come."

And she is certain of this.

.

.

.

The days are long and full of doubt; the spider never seems to tire of her, and the physical experience itself is not altogether unpleasant.

It is only during the periods when he is silent, sleeping, or absent, that she becomes aware of the emotional toil the ordeal has taken on her mind, body, and soul.

 _I love a man of good heart and virtue_ , she thinks, mostly to herself, though her heart breaks every time she is answered with the sheer, soundless feeling that she's been abandoned for a newer, shiner toy.

.

.

.

One night, the spider remarks on how her cheeks taste of salt and sadness.

"Don't tell me you've been crying for that dog," he intones, groaning as she tightens the circle of her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper within herself.

"He'll come," she whispers, somewhat tiredly, against the base of his throat. "He'll come. He'll come."

But she doesn't know who she's talking about anymore.

.

.

.

The one she loves never does reclaim and rebuild her, but she thinks herself foolish, air-headed, for imagining he would -

Because she's forgotten that as much as dogs like bones, they like meat even more.


	11. day 17: Sango

**Title:** Heart-Shaped

 **Warnings:** mild sexual situations

 **Prompt:** Sango

 **Pairing:** NarSan, some MirSanNar

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 17.** Inspired by Lana Del Rey's 'Diet Mountain Dew' - there are references to the song (and some of her other tracks) everywhere; the titles of each subsection were taken from the lyrics.

If Sango seems OOC, that was kind of on purpose - Lana Del Rey's music is oftentimes very fairytale or dream-like, coupled with darker undertones or lyrics. This was my (sad) nod to the style; furthermore, the majority of her songs are jam-packed with _Lolita_ references. _Lolita_ is my favorite novel of all time, and I just love the duality of a bright, dazzling narrative concealing a darker meaning.

Dedicated to the beautiful and absolutely wonderful **velvet-teddies** ( **moonlightdiva** on tumblr). You're all my goals, girl.

* * *

 **i. do you think we'll be in love forever?**

She loves him like a faded memory - something sweet and long-passed, tarnished with the stain of _the-things-that-no-longer-were._

 _And who will you love after me?_ he used to ask, smirking, because he already knew her answer.

 _I won't love anyone else,_ she would reply, because it was the truth. _You've ruined me, forevermore._

He'd laugh like a god, and she would kiss him; taste the filth of her sugary sin on his lips, relishing the flavor.

 **ii. you're no good for me**

Miroku has a parasite in his palm; a gaping whirlwind of destruction and death, literally at his fingertips.

She thinks it's poetic - she is a wasteland; kills everything in her path; there is no pleasant future with one so broken as she.

Naraku, too, is disaster beneath the skin of a man.

Sango wonders if she has a type, or if danger finds her all on its own.

 **iii. we both know just what we're here for**

"And who will you love after me?"

Pause.

"I will love him," she admits quietly. "I will love the monk."

Naraku raises a brow, perplexed. "Will?"

"One day, perhaps," Sango amends, kissing his cold, dead lips. "But not today."

He sighs against her mouth, and she tangles her fingers in his long, black hair -

"No, you won't," Naraku replies between breaths. "You will always love me."

 **iv. turn me to ashes**

Sometimes she thinks his love will kill her; sometimes she thinks it isn't love at all. Whatever the twisted, burning thing that had sparked when she'd met him as Prince Kagewaki continues to draw her back to him - whether it was Kohaku, or a Jewel shard, or the promise of something like passion (something that Miroku constantly misplaced in inappropriate gestures and worthless flirtations).

Sometimes she wants him to incinerate them both with the flames of desire, until there is nothing but gray dust in their steed, _ah, love, what a powerful thing it was!_

 **v. what the past says**

More than once, her friends ask her where she goes when she leaves in the middle of the day (for she refuses to meet her love like a criminal in the night).

"I've been saved too many times," she likes to reply, shouldering Hiraikotsu, walking briskly in the opposite direction.

They often warn her that the world is unsafe; frequently, they warn her that her love is unsafe, though they do so unwittingly.

Sango abandons them with increasing regularity, and is happy.

 **vi. mountain dew**

From inside the holy mountain, Naraku has finished ripping his grubby human heart out, so that he can love Sango like any other man.

Once she has finished scaling the sloped, beast-infested rocks, Naraku pulls her behind the barrier.

"I've been waiting up all night," he murmurs, stroking her cheek.

She smiles, ever lovely, ever-loving.

The morning is cold, and the sun is shrouded by clouds. Outside, dew drips off the petals of coral-colored flowers, nourishing the dark, worm-filled soil it thrives in.

 **vii. ready for another lie?**

 _And who will you love after me?_

 _No one, Naraku. I will love no one after you._


	12. day 19: Minor Characters

**Title:** song of imaginary beings

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Prompt:** Minor Characters

 **Pairings:** N/A; Prince Kagewaki Hitomi-centric

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 19**. I'm getting a little burned out, honestly, but I'm still loving these. Also, I absolutely adore Prince Kagewaki - Naraku-related gushing aside, Kagewaki seemed exceptionally kind (if Naraku was portraying him correctly, that is). Also: he was a poor sick baby, I just want to snuggle with him and kick Naraku's filthy soul away from his home.

Dedicated to **ryo-creampuff-bakura** , my cacti cult leader, and who probably loves Prince-Died-Too-Soon more than anyone else. You're my homegirl. Sorry this is so short.

* * *

He knows there is something watching him; can sense it in the shadowed corners of his chambers, though no one believes him.

 _You are sickly, my lord,_ says the doctor. _You are unwell._

Kagewaki knows they are wrong. The plague which taints his blood is more than mere sickness, nor is it simply the result of the demon hauntings in the village his family oversaw. No, this illness is different - Kagewaki hears thing, voices, that are not his own, whisper at the strangest times of night. Once or twice, he has tried to do something mundane - eat, speak, the like - and his body froze, like something was physically preventing him from moving.

His father has been behaving more beastly than usual; Kagewaki is used to the shouting, drinking, gambling, and womanizing. However, he is not used to the violence - his lord father seems to be conducting more executions then usual, and appears to garner a strange, sadistic pleasure from their deaths.

The demon slayers would be here in a few days. They've promise extermination and peace.

Prince Kagewaki Hitomi is doubtful they will be able to kill monsters that seem to only exist within his imagination.


	13. day 21: MirSanNar

**Title:** bury my love

 **Warnings:** implied sexual situations, horror, adult material

 **Prompt:** Free Day

 **Pairing:** MirSanNar

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 21.** Dedicated to **moonpiece** ( **princesssango** on tumblr) and **kristicles**. Love you both, you talented, beautiful darlings. Thanks for tolerating and/or supporting my sin.

* * *

...

 ** _"To survive is scary, for everyone."_**

 _-_ Miroku

...

 **(i)**

He's in love with a dead woman; dead to the world, dead in the eyes, dead as a whole.

Unfortunately for her, her spirit is still very much alive; as is her rage. The desire for revenge had resurrected her, and she'd clawed her way out of the grave someone else had dug; every bit a ghost of fairy tales and legends, and certainly beautiful enough to lure any man back into death with her.

Fortunately for Miroku, he's half-dead already.

 **(ii)**

"So, how did you die?"

Sango purses her lips, looking into the crackling, writhing fire before them, because the dead are always fascinated by _things that move without a reason to do so._

"By my brother's blade. It was painful." Her tone is matter-of-fact. "What about you?"

Miroku flexes his palm, pushing the prayer beads together. "Disease. I am dying of a plague in my palm, and it kills me every day."

"So, you're still alive?" Sango's expression goes somber, and she pulls her knees to her chin, sighing. "It must be nice to live, even for a little bit."

"Not quite," Miroku replies quietly, staring into the flames of their campfire, feeling drowsy. "It's quite discouraging to be almost-alive. At least you got to die once, and that was it."

Sango says nothing more, but Miroku can tell she disagrees. They leave the subject be, electing to watch the golden-red blaze until it fades into embers, burying themselves into the ash that dusts the grass.

 **(iii)**

Death himself is in love with her, and Miroku knows this; sees that Death tries to lure her back to him with the very same hands that killed her, and sees that it works every time.

In a poison-shrouded castle, Sango crawls her way into her lover's cold, possessive embrace, crying as she does so. Miroku watches, disgusted, as Death pulls her to her feet and kiss her, sucking the soul from her perfect, paling mouth.

"If you truly love her," Miroku yells, fighting to keep his voice from cracking, "You'd let her go!"

Death tears his gaze from Sango's ghostly visage to smirk across the room, eyes scarlet and shifting like inflected candlelight, boiling the blood in Miroku's veins.

"I love everyone," says Death. "I love her, just as I loved your father, and his father before. I love you, too, Miroku. I am killing you so we can be together."

The shadows in the room begin to sweep around him, whispering words in demon tongues and twisting as they congregate around Death and Sango.

Inky hair billowing around his white fur garb - the skin of an animal long-since-passed - Death extends a hand in Miroku's direction, smiling warmly.

"Come," he offers, tone gentle. "Come be with us."

"Please," Sango pleads, clinging to Death's chest, _so beautiful for someone so dead._ "Please come, Miroku. I hate him too much to leave, but I love you, too. Please."

But Miroku no longer needs convincing. Dropping his holy staff, he makes a journey of a million steps towards Death, who is waiting for him, as he always had been. The air is clogged with purple sickness, and his eyes sting from it, yet he pushes onward, until he stands directly before his destiny.

"I'm ready," Miroku whispers.

Death - _who is just as beautiful as Sango, up-close_ \- leans forward, brushing a bony finger along Miroku's cheek.

"No, you are not," Death murmurs, reaching for Miroku's cursed hand, unwinding the prayer beads with cool, careful hands, "You are ruined beyond repair; you broke in the loveliest way. For that, I adore you all the more."

Death kisses Miroku's palm affectionately, and Sango grasps Miroku's opposite one to stroke it with the pad of her thumb.

The gloom hisses and whirls around them, and Miroku closes his eyes, preferring the darkness within himself rather than the one he would be sucked into, forevermore.

 **(iv)**

Buried six feet below the earth, alongside all he loves and more, Miroku learns that Hell is not so bad, after all.


	14. day 22: SessRin

**Title:** Saint

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Prompt:** Sesshomaru

 **Pairing:** SessRin

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 22.** Lyrics belong to PVRIS. Dedicated to **theladyofthewest** ; darling, dearest, only wife of our favorite trash king.

* * *

 **i.**

 ** _And I'm not spiritual, b_** ** _ut please stay,_**  
 ** _'Cause I think you're a saint,_**  
 ** _And I think you're an angel._**

When he says his name is _Lord,_ she thinks he is a saint; white-haired and glorious and holding Heaven in his hand. His form is haloed by a faint silver sheen, and he flies through the air like any other angel. It was he who brought her back with a sword incapable of killing; it was he who ensured her protection from the clutches of monsters.

Ironically, the fact that Sesshomaru is a prince of demons - _a murderer, a nightmare in silk and steel, a hell-hound in disguise_ \- never seems to rattle her.

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 **ii.**

 _ **I said oh! You give me something to talk about,**_  
 _ **Something to talk about.**_

"R-Rin."

"What was that?!" Jaken squawks, yellow eyes bugging. "What did you say, girl?! Speak up!"

She swallows over the burning lump in her throat, anxiety clenching her breast; she can feel her savior's cool, piercing gaze at her at all times, regardless of how disinterested he appeared to be.

Rin knows she's being judged; knows this is a test of her worthiness, and she's determined to prove herself.

Hands fisting the front of her filthy kimono, Rin bows her head and inhales, mentally rehearsing words of thanks and her own name, praying her Lord wouldn't find her incompetence annoying or foolish.

"Human!" The little green imp is going scarlet with indignance, waving a staff of enchanted wood in the air as he speaks. "Did you not hear me?! I -"

" _Jaken._ "

Like a god, Sesshomaru towers over both Rin and Jaken, imposing and powerful; his tone is collected but firm, and his smooth, flawless features bear no resentment. "Leave Rin be."

Jaken splutters apologies and begs forgiveness, and Rin does nothing but gaze up in awe, eyes welling over, privately praising whatever force that had deemed her worthy to even breathe the same air as he.

 _Her Lord had heard her voice._

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 **iii.**

 _ **Oh I know you're gone now,**_  
 _ **But I still wait for you, wait for you.**_

People ask her _why_ , why she continues to have faith in him; _why does she continue to place her trust in a supernatural thing, unpredictable beyond imagination, unreliable to mankind?_

Rin doesn't truly have an answer; she only knows that her Lord will always come to save her, no matter how dire the situation.

Sesshomaru has never failed to come for her; never failed to rescue her.

This is no different.


	15. day 24: Naraku

**Title:** Redemancy

 **Warnings:** N/A

 **Prompt:** Naraku

 **Pairing:** NarKik

 **a/n:** Written for **Inuvember, Day 24.** I've only been waiting for this day all damn month. Naraku holds a very special, personal place in my heart; I adore him. I always will. So for his day, I decided to give him a little bit of hope, rather than doing my usual soul-sucking routine. I love him too much for him to always be in pain.

Honestly, I don't think this is my best, mostly because I may or may not have cried while writing this...so...

Dedicated to all my readers, followers - literally anyone who has even so much as clicked on my blog or writing. You are all precious to me.

Also dedicated to my sister, whom we recently found out was pre-diabetic. I love her more than I'll ever love that sad pathetic spider baby; or any other man, for that matter.

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 **redemancy (n.): the act of loving in return**

* * *

Upon the empty, barren land he awakens in, there is a woman he knows all too well, looking down at him - _fair_ and _ethereal_ and _not dead,_ as he most certainly was.

 _K...Kikyou?_

A small, sad smile.

Suddenly something within him crumbles - and he feels as if all the bitterness in his heart is washed away by an inexplicable stream of tears that burn and blur his vision, marring her beautiful visage, _Kikyou Kikyou Kikyou I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, please don't hate me, I love you I love you I love you -_

Her arms encircle him and she _sh-sh-sh's_ him; like a child, Naraku immediately clings to her, pride cast aside, and he sobs into her breast, trembling fingers fisting the back of her clean, white priestess garb.

 _I didn't mean to._

 _I know._

 _The Shikon Jewel...it...t-told me...that you h-had meant nothing to me...that - that I never..._

 _I know._

 _But I did. I l-loved you. So, so much. I tried not to. I tried so hard, and I...h-hurt you...please...I...I'm sorry..._

 _I know._

Swallowing thickly, Naraku lifts his face to look at her, blinking through the lingering moisture.

 _Do you...do you hate me?_

Kikyou - glorious, perfect, glowing, _all-he-loved-in-this-world_ Kikyou - shakes her head, smiling softly all the while. _No, Naraku. I don't hate you._

It is not love; it is not even forgiveness. But the mere fact that she - _she,_ the woman for whom he'd sold his soul to touch - did not despise his very existence is enough for him.

From somewhere inside himself, without the taint of cursed jewels and tarnished remains of another's heart, Naraku experiences something like _relief._

 _Thank you._

His words are choked and hoarse and full of gratitude; Kikyou brings her palm to his cheek, cradling it, and he leans into her, gentle for once, inhaling deeply.

 _You're going to Hell._

Naraku closes his eyes.

 _I know._

 _You have to go, soon._

 _I know._

 _I wanted to see you before you went. I wanted to make sure...you knew this wasn't entirely your fault._

 _I know._

In the distance, a low, deep sound resembling a horn compels Naraku to open his eyes, though he doesn't dare look in it's direction, more afraid than he would ever admit.

Kikyou, too, does not look, even when the noise returns, rattling the empty earth around them, closer this time. Instead, she leans over him, slowly kissing the corner of his mouth - adding another _almost_ to their long list of _things-that-could-have-been._

 _It's not forever._ Her voice is a murmur, warm breath fanning his face. _One day, they will let you go._

Naraku says nothing - only wanting to pull her down and shove his lips against her; desperately wishing to taste her, touch her, teach her, until Hell came for them both.

But Naraku knows he's dragged her down too many times to count, because he is the filth of the ground and worm-filled soil and blood-stained flesh while she is the white-hot sun and priestess-purity and everything he was never meant to touch; knows she is too good for him, and knows he overreached, overstepped his boundaries when he ought to have cherished her from afar.

So Naraku buries his love in the deep, dark cavity within his chest, wincing slightly when the horn blares again and the earth shivers alongside him, pebbles clinking anxiously beside his ear.

Above, Kikyou sighs, expression somber.

 _I'll never see you again._ Naraku's tone has gone flat, emotionless, yet the words still sound pathetic when spoken aloud.

A clean, soft finger brushes away the welling wetness in his eye before it can fall; it gleams on her skin like a piece of crystal, and he stares, mesmerized.

 _Not as you, no. But -_

The horn bellows, splitting the dirt as it cuts through the air. Kikyou enfolds him to her breast once more, and Naraku understands, pressing his face into her and shutting his gaze like it might save him from what was to come.

Her lips ghost the shell of his ear, and Naraku stills, listening.

 _But perhaps in another life, hmm?_

Every breath tastes like ash and decay; the horn drowns out every other sound, painful on the ears, too loud, too loud.

Naraku keeps his eyes closed, ignoring everything else for the time being; here, in this moment, he is only aware of the comforting darkness provided by the love of his life - Kikyou, whom he would remember during his punishment, no matter what sort of torture or torment he endured.

For the second time in his existence, Naraku wishes for her heart before falling.


End file.
